


at forlade sig på to ankere

by octaviamatilda



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Frottage, Jealousy, Love, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 10:09:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13292607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/octaviamatilda/pseuds/octaviamatilda
Summary: Margrethe’s jealousy has unintended consequences.





	at forlade sig på to ankere

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Bitter Boy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13261119) by [octaviamatilda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/octaviamatilda/pseuds/octaviamatilda). 



> Det er godt at forlade sig på to ankere.  
> -  
> Good riding at two anchors, men have told, for if the one fails, the other may hold.

Hvitserk and Ubbe are very drunk. She watches them both so that she cannot see the slaves who wind between tables, being pinched and grabbed, or else ignored entirely. Her husband and his brother – her brother now – are talking low and laughing, their heads pushed close together like snorting ponies. Ubbe guffaws at something and throws his arm heavily around Hvitserk, who simply smiles and scoffs at the ale accidentally tipped into his lap. 

Margrethe catches her husband’s eye. She places her cup down and rises with slow intent; she turns to leave and hearing two chairs scrape back, she knows they both follow.

\--

Hvitserk never takes her without Ubbe there. He does not always join in; sometimes Ubbe will just watch them, not even touching his own prick, when Hvitserk ploughs into her from behind or pulls her down on the bed and licks her cunt without bothering to shed their clothes. She wants, now and then, not to bear the weight of Ubbe’s beautiful blue gaze when her desire for Hvitserk throbs in her, but she never asks him to leave. 

\--

Margrethe is already lounging on the furs when the two finally come stumbling in after her. They are leaning against one another, ridiculous grins on their flushed faces and panting already. Their eyes are wet and heavy and they wait – for her instructions or for each other, she cannot tell.

She raises an eyebrow at Hvitserk and softens her voice when she speaks. ‘Ubbe wants to fuck my arse, but I have not allowed him.’ The younger spurts out a laugh and shoves his older brother, and she steadies Ubbe with her foot by dragging it up his thigh. 

‘I will let him, and you can watch. If you kiss him, on the mouth.’

They burst into drunken laughter at precisely the same moment: it is senseless and too loud, the sort she is used to hearing. Hvitserk has his hands on his knees and Ubbe runs his large palm over his head as he bellows stupidly at the rafters. When they stop, she stares at them silently. They will not do it.

Hvitserk turns to Ubbe, and shrugs. Quickly, her husband leans in and places his lips on Hvitserk’s mouth. He is pulling back before Margrethe can think or speak; her stomach turns over and her cunt pulses. They both look at her expectantly, before Hvitserk grips Ubbe by the elbow and pushes him towards her with his kind, selfish smile. He can have what he wants now. Pain bites at her heart. Margrethe stops her husband. 

‘No.’ She bites her lip with purpose. ‘Properly. Do it again, as you would kiss me.’

Ubbe’s eyes grow stern beneath the cloud of ale that fogs them. The hurt in her heart is worse than the shame. 

‘I will go, brother.’ Hvitserk sounds suddenly solemn, though not confused. ‘Margrethe does not want me here tonight I think.’

‘No, don’t.’ It is a soft admonishment. It is care, that keeps Hvitserk at Ubbe’s side. The backs of their hands brush when they have their own feet under them, no longer leaning clumsily against one another. 

Her husband just looks at her; she sees him trying to think his way through what she has not said. He has more pride than she had thought, especially for a man who married a slave and still shared her. He will not embarrass her, nor Hvitserk. She wonders -- who does he love more?

Ubbe reels his brother in by the neck and kisses him hard: Hvitserk stands rigidly and grips Ubbe by the arms as if he will shunt him away, but he does not. Margrethe thinks she will vomit. They do not stop and she cannot stop watching when Hvitserk brings his hands to Ubbe’s hips and pulls their bodies together. She stares at her husband’s tongue in his brother’s mouth. They are panting and pushing against one another, biting each other’s lips. When she brings her hand to her mouth she realises her cheeks are wet. The gesture seems to catch in the corner of Hvitserk’s eye and in one frightening movement he hauls Ubbe away by his long braid and socks him in the jaw. 

Margrethe gasps as her husband staggers and Hvitserk is gone without a word. 

Ubbe will kill her.

She flinches when he groans and throws himself on the furs beside her. He does not look at her, or speak and her chest is thudding. Ubbe’s snores are louder. 

\--

In the morning, she wakes to a cold bed. Margrethe searches for them all day; there is a stone in her stomach and she hopes they are sulking together. The candles have been lit for some while when she finds them in Hvitserk’s small room. The door stands slightly ajar and though it is very late she thinks how careless they are, and how she longs for them both.

Hvitserk is on his back like a woman, with his long legs open and Ubbe between them. They are rutting, naked, against each other, breathing into each other’s hot mouths with their foreheads pressed together. Ubbe’s strong back ripples and his shoulders are set and solid as he pins his brother’s wrists to the bed; when Hvitserk tries to strain up he is scowling but Ubbe nudges his thighs open wider with his knees, thrusts harder against his prick and Hvitserk growls with pleasure. Ubbe laughs low and sweet and they are smiling, then groaning in harmony – Margrethe knows the sound well – and they are both spending on Hvitserk’s heaving stomach. 

She almost goes in. Instead, she sinks her teeth into her tongue to stop her sob and pads away into the dark.

\--

‘I love her, you know.’

‘I know, brother, I love her too.’

Ubbe leans up on his elbow. They are side by side, and Hvitserk meets his eyes easily.

‘We do not do this again.’

His older brother is saying what he thinks he should, Hvitserk knows. He sees the lie around his eyes; it is the same as he has seen in Ragnar’s face often enough. He tries to respect it, and nods. 

‘And we do not tell Margrethe.’


End file.
